Just Why?
by Izanami No Utau
Summary: Lovino couldn't die. Even if he tried. No one cared if he died, no one noticed. So why did he have this curse? When a certain Spaniard transfers to his school, Lovino gets the answer he was looking for. *WARNING* Contains some minor feels and heavy swearing. Spamano bromance if you squint.


_Just Why?_

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

Lovino first discovered his immortality when he was six and fell off the rickety, old rope bridge during a camping trip. He wasn't a strong swimmer, nor was anyone around to help him, so naturally, he drowned.

Or at least he was supposed to.

Instead of dying, and going to heaven like normal people do, he found himself washed up on the river bank. His clothes were sopping wet and he was missing his shoes, and his socks were smelling musty, but other than that…

He was just fine.

Confused, he trudged back to the camp spot, his feet pricked by the stones and crunching sticks underneath his feet. His Grandpa, Romulus, was not pleased to say the least, and demanded as to where he ran off to and why he looked as if he had taken a dip in the river with his clothes on, and where the hell his shoes went. Feliciano- his sweet, perfect little brother who could do no wrong- simply stared at him with a bewildered expression.

Typical Feliciano.

Lovino couldn't come up with a good explanation, so he told the truth. He fell in the river, but he left out the drowning part, dismissing it as he must've just fallen unconscious and luckily wound up on land.

After all, that was entirely probable and much more realistic than dying and coming back to life.

But, if that was the case… Why did he see his mother and father, who died in a car crash when he and Feliciano were still in diapers? It didn't make any sense.

His grandfather sighed, shaking his head, and mumbled an incoherent sentence under his breath, before confining Lovino to the tent for the rest of the camping trip.

The rest of the trip sucked to put it mildly.

About a month later, Lovino couldn't brush off the truth any longer.

After all, who survives falling eight stories from a large apartment complex in New York?

Lovino did.

Weirdly enough, no one seemed to notice. Even though his Grandpa and Feliciano were literally standing next to him when he fell off the balcony. They didn't even blink.

What the hell?

Still, Lovino thought his ability was neat and tried to demonstrate it to Feliciano by ingesting a large amount of rat poison. It was a pretty slow and horrid death, taking about fifteen minutes for him to finally kick the bucket. When he woke up, Feliciano stared at him curiously, and asked as to what Lovino was supposed to be showing him.

Naturally, Lovino didn't take it well and demanded for Feliciano to stop messing with him. Feliciano objected, fervidly protesting that he had no clue. There was no way Feliciano would be this adamant unless he truly didn't know what was going on, yet, how could he have missed his older brother writhing around in pain for fifteen minutes, before dying and coming back to life?

Of course, Lovino would be irate, and Feliciano would start to cry very loudly, running straight into their Grandpa's arms.

Romulus was furious and ordered for Lovino to stay home and clean, while the two of them went to Coney Island.

It wasn't fair.

There was no way that Feliciano didn't see that, so Lovino chalked it up to his brother being a bitchy asshole.

He quickly learned otherwise.

It wasn't just Feliciano… _nobody _noticed his deaths.

Mutilated by a vicious dog while strolling through Central Park late at night. Shot by a group of gang-bangers while taking a shortcut through an alley on the way home from school. Stabbed by a mugger. Drowned in a pool.

There was one particularly sore incident when he, Feliciano, and their Grandpa were caught in a bank robbery. The robbers had fired three bullets.

The first one shattered a porcelain vase, holding a couple silk lilies.

The second one grazed Feliciano's arm, and blasted a hole in the wall.

The third one nailed Lovino in the head. Blood splattered everywhere. Stunned, he slumped lifelessly to the ground as crimson gore dripped down his forehead and pooled from his head, into a little puddle underneath him.

Naturally, he revived, a little shaken up, but otherwise fine and dandy.

The police and the paramedics were there, talking to the distressed crowd while the paramedics tended to Feliciano's arm. Of course, nobody bothered to ask Lovino if he was ok. No one even noticed the blood… _his blood_… They were flocked around Feliciano, reporters waving their microphones in his face, causing him to sob harder.

Little fucker.

It was just a graze and there he was, bawling his eyes out and carrying on as if he had been the one shot in the head. Not Lovino.

Feliciano made the news, babbling senselessly about how frightening the whole ordeal was. The news people stared at Lovino, their serious faces a white-hot iron brand, as they stated the facts.

One person with minor injuries. Luckily, there were no casualties.

How in fucking Virgin Mary's holy name did they ignore all the blood?

HOW?

Lovino began to resent his life.

Accidents were attracted to him like flies to a pile of dog shit on a ninety degree day. If he could die, he would've. People comparing him to his _perfect _little brother, people talking behind his back about his foul temper. People avoiding him because of the constant scowl he wore on his face.

They should try smiling when they were hit by idiot drivers at the crosswalk on an almost daily basis. Texters, drunks, or simply inattentive. He died every time.

And every time, they got away with it, because nobody noticed.

Anyone whoever complained about their life sucking, should try living his for a while. He'd gladly trade.

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

The moment he saw the new transfer student from Spain, Lovino knew he was going to hate his guts.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo was everything Lovino was not.

Sure, they both had green eyes, slightly tanned skin, and dark brown hair, but that's where the similarities ended.

Antonio was all bright smiles to Lovino's perpetual scowl. Tall and lean, compared to Lovino's average height and bony build. He was an actual European straight from the beautiful, sunny lands of Spain. The most Lovino ever experienced of his Italian heritage was his Grandpa's swearing in said language, and the weekly trips to Little Italy. Not to mention, to the girls, Antonio's accent was… for lack of a better word… sexy… While Lovino's accent, while not as thick as his Grandpa's, made him sound as if he was Mario's long-lost brother.

Ok, Feliciano had the same obnoxious accent, but his little brother was cheerful, artistic, trendy, and more than happy to help others out. Not to mention, he was good with girls. The last time Lovino had tried to ask a girl out, he had been brutally bitch-slapped. It wasn't that bad, he didn't even die.

Of course, no one noticed the throbbing red mark on his cheek. Though Feliciano did comment on his face seeming different.

Gee, thanks bro.

Anyways, back to Antonio.

He was a smash-hit. Number one on school billboards in terms of popularity. The crazy-ass girls who attended his school assembled their own fan club for him, his name would be spoken with the same reverence that the other boys who had fan clubs, were spoken with.

Personally, Lovino didn't see what was great about those guys.

Arthur was British, goth-punk, and really, _really _creepy. Not to mention his eyebrows looked like caterpillars.

Feliciano was his little brother. It was his job to dislike his little brother. Lovino couldn't comment on his negative traits without heavy bias.

Gilbert was a major dork and obnoxiously loud, as well as a borderline narcissist. And if the rumors were accurate, he still slept with an old battered, chick plushy that he had won at a carnival seven years ago, affectionately naming it "Gilbird".

Points for originality there.

The other two- Heracles and Mathias- were just…

Heracles was a fucking pervert, and Mathias was obnoxiously loud, not to mention, stupid, bossy, and a whole host of other problems.

But yeah… Antonio…

Adored by all, and instant friends with Gilbert, and the other mega-perv- Francis Bonnefoy. He had mad skills with the guitar and could cook a mean three-course meal.

Great. A musician, a social butterfly, a model, and a chef.

Oh god… It was a Spanish version of his brother with balls! He even had a German friend! The brother of his brother's friend, Ludwig (Who Lovino hated with a burning passion). The only thing Antonio was missing was the Asian sidekick and he could be Feliciano 2.0.

How many naive, cheerful idiots could the world handle?

To top it all off, Antonio _had _to sit right next to Lovino in three different classes! Oh, and he obviously couldn't keep his mouth shut. Making daily attempts at interacting with Lovino, confirming his stupidity. Most people gave up a looong time ago, seeing how futile it was.

Lovino had to admire his determination. though.

That wasn't to say that Antonio didn't get frustrated. Lovino overheard him complaining to Francis and Gilbert about how obstinately churlish he was, and how he took the heads off of everyone who tried to get close to him. Francis said to just give up, while Gilbert was too zoned out to be of any value to the conversation, nodding his head in time to the beat of Skillet as it blared from his oversized Skull Candy headphones.

Antonio sighed and shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

Hopefully, he would give up and let Lovino be.

Of course, he didn't.

Fucking cheery pretty boys, thinking they could solve the world's problems by helping every downtrodden soul they met. It'd take a lot more than a couple of kind words and a bright smile to fix Lovino's situation.

Nothing short of going to God and demanding a refund would get rid of Lovino's blasted immortality. What else would it lead to? Would he eventually stop aging and watch everyone around him wither away from old age? Would he have to get a new identity every eighty years? Just how excruciating of an end would he meet?

Lovino still had yet to try out decapitation, being dissolved in acid, and burned alive (though he came pretty close to being cooked when a fire broke out at the Olive Garden he was working at).

Antonio, being the naive idiot he was, noticed that Lovino was missing his lunch one day, and offered him- no insisted on him taking- a couple tomato slices, a few churros, and a fresh, homemade tamale. Lovino flat-out refused, yet, he still wound up with the food sitting in front of him, though he did not touch it until World History, the one class he didn't share with Antonio.

The food was good, still warm, and obviously made with love.

After that, Antonio would bring extra tomatoes for Lovino on a daily basis.

Bastard.

However, Lovino couldn't deny that the tomatoes were sublime. Ripe, the perfect shade of red, and bursting with juice as he had the lunch lady cut it up at lunch. They only had sporks at the cafeteria. For some reason, the school board thought the students couldn't handle actual knives or forks. What did they think was going to happen? A stabbing?

Scrap that. With his luck, he'd probably get stabbed in the arm and bleed to death, only for everyone to not give two fucks.

Antonio had found the one way to reach out to Lovino, and that was through his finicky taste in food.

One day, Feliciano thought it'd be a _brilliant _idea to have Ludwig over, and Grandpa, being the sucker he was, agreed and spent the whole day making wurst sausages, potatoes, black forest cake, and other dishes that Lovino absolutely hated.

Lovino had called Antonio up and asked if he could come over to his apartment for the day. Naturally, Antonio agreed, enthused that he was finally making progress with Lovino.

He truly outdid himself this time.

_Papas arrugadas, _tomato bread, _pincho pintxo, escabeche, gazpacho, paella, ajoblanco, pisto, flan, marzipan, tortell_… Only on holidays had Lovino eaten so well. Naturally, all the food was homemade too. Turned out, Antonio's dad was a world-class chef, while his mother was a Flamenco dancer.

There was music, and laughter, and even a little wine. Clearly, Antonio's parents knew how to live it up while disregarding the law. They even chuckled a bit when Lovino, under the effects of the wine, temporarily forgot his manners, and reverted to his habit of calling Antonio a "tomato bastard".

For the first time he could remember, Lovino felt happy and peaceful. For a fleeting moment, he wish that he could've stayed at Antonio's apartment forever.

But forever was impossible, and the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon. Gold, dusty pink, and shots of purple were painted in the sky as night loomed ever closer. Feliciano and Grandpa were expecting him back by dark.

So, Antonio volunteered to walk Lovino home to make sure he got back in one piece. Lovino couldn't help but laugh at that. Oh, if only he knew… Still, Antonio insisted and now the two found themselves at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

Lovino hated crosswalks. They were where he died the most.

The light changed.

Taking a deep breath, Lovino started to walk to the other side, his eyes closed.

There was a loud honking noise. Lovino whirled around, his eyes snapping open. Blinding headlights slashed his vision, the _whrrr _of a truck's wheels. Lovino sighed inwardly. _Of… fucking… course… Here we go again! My life sucks: act three! _

At least Antonio wouldn't remember this and they could continue to be friends.

He braced himself for the impact. There was a muffled scream and a thickening _thud! _He felt himself slammed against the pavement, the rough concrete tearing up his skin.

But… there was no crunching of bones. No flash of light. No oblivion. Something, warm and sticky flecked his face.

Stunned, he slowly turned around, devoid of feeling. There was no way. No way. His eyes widened in horror.

The truck's wheels were smeared with red, the sides looking as if they had gotten a macabre spray-paint job.

But it wasn't Lovino who had died.

He was too shocked to even scream.

Why did that idiot sacrifice himself? Why did he just throw away his own life, as if it was worth nothing?

Lovino's stomach clenched, he doubled over, retching. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.

Life... it was so precious and fragile. It was short and fleeting. But his life... It was cheap. He couldn't die, even if he tried. A cruel reminder of just how incompetent and invaluable he was. So worthless, that even death wouldn't come for him. After all... He had nothing to contribute.

Not like his brother, or Antonio, or any other person out there.

He couldn't draw, he couldn't smile, he was clumsy, he wasn't a motivator, or a strong leader.

And now... Lovino realized why he was immortal.

No one wanted him. Not even the Devil, or God, or whatever higher powers were in charge of running this fucked up world.

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

* * *

_This was a random idea that came to me while I went through reading a bunch of angsty Lovino stories. Really… He's such a cutie :3 But… oww… I know I was harsh. Poor Lovino… Still… that concludes my first one-shot and my second FF on this site! I hope it didn't suck OwO; _

_Anyways… I'll be replying to reviews via P.M. Reviews are love after all! :D Not much else to say now. So… Goodbye! _

_(I apologize if any of the characters were OOC) _


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